


homestuck lesbians

by Burgundyrose



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 00:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4725740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burgundyrose/pseuds/Burgundyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>collection of my tumblr drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. vriska/terezi

**Author's Note:**

> prompts: “i dreamt about you last night” & “i’ll wait”
> 
> tw for self harm

“i dreamt about you last night.”

vriska turns her head towards you with a shit-eating grin plastered on her face and you cut her off before she can start.

“not like _that_ , you dork.”

she snaps the bubblegum in her mouth as a reply, and leans further back into her chair, feigning disinterest.

“boooooooring! why even tell me about it if nothing interesting happened?”

you recognise this for the invitation it is, and continue.

“well, before you rudely interrupted, i was about to tell you the most interesting detail! but, i suppose if you don’t care…” you trail off teasingly, waiting for vriska to pounce.

“of course i don’t care, but it will probably be a _teensy_ bit more exciting than this load of crap we’re being taught right now. besides, not as if i can get any more bored!”

she leans back further in her chair, propping her legs up on her desk and wrapping her arms behind her neck. she chews the bubblegum in her mouth loudly and closes her eyes for good measure. you recognise the scent- grape flavoured hubba bubba (that she stole from you)- and drag your eyes up and down her relaxed form. she looks the epitome of ‘cool’, using all the techniques a boy once taught you years ago. you can’t quite remember his name, though.

as she tempts fate by bending the chair’s legs back further, you remember how every time the teacher calls on her she’ll have the perfect answer, and how furiously she hides her studying- “i’m the best, pyrope!” she’d say, with her amusing emphasis on the ‘b’, “studying is for nerds who don’t have my luck!” - and smile knowingly at her.

it’s probably the best way to annoy her into attention and you begin to mention a choice, and a coin, and a scratch. however, the teacher is walking down your aisle, and you pull your neatly copied homework over the nigh illegible notes you had been passing to vriska. the homework had been pretty simple, really, just basic legal jargon. your focus for today had been on murders, and whether the murderer’s individual mindset prior to the murder should be taken into consideration when deciding on a sentence. baby stuff, basically.

the click-clack of your teacher’s heels inch closer to your desks, and vriska remains in her cliche pose.

“miss serket, do you care to share your opinion on the topic?”

your eyes follows vriska’s to the projected notes on the screen, where you see the words ‘second chance’ and ‘juvenile killer’ underlined. someone had added a few decorative question marks too, and you smirk.

vriska scoffs and casually runs a hand through her knotted hair, ignoring when her fingers get stuck.

“obviously you need my help, miss, because it seems like the rest of the class just aren’t smart enough to get it.”

the teacher waits for an elaboration; already used to vriska’s obnoxious nature.

“it doesn’t matter how old they are or whatever stupid beliefs they have, duh. they’ll always be a person who decided to murder someone, and there ain’t no changing your ways after that! a killer is a killer is a killer.”

many hands go up after vriska finishes, and you think of swords and suns and how you woke up crying last night, while the teacher gives her an appraising look.

“so there is no possibility of forgiveness, then, miss serket?”

you don’t hear the response because you are already out the door. you push past the streams of people around you, and try your hardest not to cry. they are all so ignorant and blind, blind blind blindblindblindblind! the door to the girl’s bathroom slams behind you as you throw yourself into a cubicle and twist the lock. your hand is too clear to you and everything is in intense high definition. you are pinching your flesh so tightly that you can see pricks of blood in your vision and dripping down your fingers. you remember a girl with eight eyes, or one minus seven, but you can’t think. she lost her eyes, didn’t she? didn’t you? all you can feel is the overwhelming feeling of missing something very important. your mind screams back and forth between dates and puddles and broken glass before it lands on the day your subconscious had remembered before you.

vriska had been standing in front of you and her back had been turned. she didn’t see your clenched palms gripping cherry red, nor had she seen the blade twist in and proclaim your mutual deaths.

you think you’re experiencing information overload.

you’re not sure exactly what happens in the next few minutes, but when you hear vriska’s voice your nails are lined with blood and your forehead is scratched. everything is the wrong colour, you think, and try to remember how to breathe.

“terezi?” she calls, and it should smell blue, goddamnit.

she stops right outside the door and you decide a response isn’t needed. her red converse reflect onto the tiled surface of the floor, and you watch as she plops down onto the floor and sits cross-legged. it’s strange to see her inverse beneath her; the two girls split like land and sea. the underwater version of your best friend. she ripples slightly under the light, and you look at your own.

she is standing stock still, just as she did years, months, days ago. she does not carry a sword, but you see one anyway, and it gleams with the knowledge of circumstance. the blade is dreamlike in your mind, just as it was last night, and it glimmers with the promise of futures; plural for their inevitable multiplicities and their inevitable splinters.

“i’ll wait,” she says, and you think of numbers.

you unlock the door and it swings forward like a guillotine.

she doesn’t pull you to her chest, but instead freezes at the sight of your bleeding eyelids.

your shoulders are heavy with the silence of a thousand lifetimes.

“holy shit,” she swears, before grabbing tissues that are soon to be stained with your scandalously red blood. “terezi, what the fuck.”

you crumple in on yourself, your eyebrows scrunching up painfully against the cuts. it’s then that she pulls you close to her, softly stroking the strands of your hair.

she gives you her jumper, and pulls the hood low onto your face, covering most of the bleeding. neither of you want to go to the nurse, you realise, as she fashions a makeshift bandage for your eyes. she makes a joke about cutting your nails and you cackle at the inappropriateness, tasting the sharp salt of your tears.

you think she is probably overreacting- your eyes aren’t even permanently damaged! - but you allow yourself to be guided out of the bathroom and out the nearest exit. she tells you that you look like a decomposing mummy, and you flick whatever part of her you can reach. you don’t think she understands yet, and neither do you.

she decides to skip school with you, and applies cream to your wounds while sitting in her cheap car. she drives off towards the lake, where you hope she’ll buy you some chips out of pity, and you listen to her tell you about her dream.

(she doesn’t truly remember until a week later when she calls you at 3am, deranged with confusion and anger. you sneak out of your window and meet her in the park, where you cry and yell about injustice. you don’t mention the scratches covering the left side of her face, and the mangled clumps of hair halfway pulled out of her scalp, but just rest your head on her shivering shoulder. the two of you sit on the damp grass and realise that, as the anachronisms you are, you could only truly belong somewhere while together.)


	2. rose/kanaya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rose and kanaya in a mermaid au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “you’re warm”

the sand is dry under your dripping skin and the soles of your feet collect dirt as you walk. your newly acquired layer of grime is quickly forgotten, though, as you creep further away from the main beach and towards the isolated rocky areas. these places are usually where one finds the best shells or if they’re lucky, tiny crabs; they usually scamper away quite quickly, though. you’re hoping for something a bit bigger.

in your hand is a picnic basket- a prop to convince your mother of your veracity, albeit slightly unneeded. you had also genuinely wanted to share lunch with your newfound friend, but you had a feeling your mother would believe that less.

you eye the water for any suspicious movement and continue walking. the sun shines overhead, but the muted colour of the clouds seem destined for rain. you’re not sure how much time you have until then. you hope it will be enough.

the weather in your town is too fickle not to bring an umbrella wherever you go, but if the rain becomes too heavy your mother will worry even if you carry shelter. you glance down at the interior of the basket and check that your umbrella is still safely propped up against the handle. you glimpse the shining cling wrap you used for the sandwiches and remember how you had cut the crust off of every single one. kanaya had told you of her preference when elaborating upon a story about lost children feeding their lunch to ducklings. she had seemed heavily embarrassed when she admitted that they shared the crumbs with her and she confessed that she was so curious about human food that she probably would have done it again. you clench the basket harder.

alongside the sandwiches is a punnet of fresh strawberries- mere intuition that you desperately hoped would prove accurate. as you worry about the possibility of the tender red flesh bruising, you fail to notice the worsening standard of your path.

the surface of the next rock you step on is covered with seaweed and in surprise you stumble on the slimy texture. you hear a small gasp to your left before you recover, and you turn your head accusingly towards the sound.

“hello, kanaya. i was wondering when you’d show yourself.”

she rises out of the water like a painting, the droplets glimmering upon her pale green skin and sliding down her half naked form. you avert your eyes out of guilt, and direct your gaze instead to her shining eyes. an equally fatal mistake.

“rose,” she begins, and you smile at her otherworldly accent twisting your name into something beautiful rather than childish. “what have you brought me?”

“all the things necessary for your human sacrifice.”

she adjusts her position, and the gleam of her scales catch the light in the most distracting way.

“you know i have to wait for a full moon before i can commence that particular ritual. and i hardly think you managed to fit the blood of two virgins into that delightful basket.

“perhaps i’ve smuggled them elsewhere.”

she sweeps her eyes across your figure, teasingly, and you’re glad you gave her the opportunity to.

“do you have experience with hiding bodies, rose?”

“a lady never kills and tells.”

you lie down on the wide rock kanaya has chosen, and twist your ankles so that they narrowly avoid dipping into a puddle. her elbows almost touch yours, their positions mirroring each others. she rests her head in her hands and smiles at you shyly whenever your eyes meet.

“are you willing to divulge the contents of your basket to me yet?” kanaya asks, her lips still lingering in their curve.

“hmm. i suppose if our alternate plan of blood sacrifice is ruined, i have no other choice.”

as you twist your torso back so that you can reach for the picnic basket, your arm brushes against kanaya’s and she jolts.

you realise that you had never actually touched her before.

“kanaya? are you alright?”

she looks up at you in shock, and gently grabs your arm, placing your forearm against hers. your skin contrasts greatly with her ethereal colouring, but the main difference is in temperature.

“you’re warm,” she says, as if it’s the strangest thing in the world.

you roll your arm against hers and ignore the tingles of electricity. her skin is not cold, but rather pleasantly soothing, cooling your quickly warming skin. her hand travels down your forearm, prodding softly at the flesh there, but soon caresses your own palm. you breathe in, and smell brine and salt.

you look up from your joined hands and see her staring at your with such undisguised amazement that your heart stops momentarily. your eyes glance down at her lips, watching as they try to form words. before she says anything, she brings your hands up to her cheek, marveling at the difference. you want to laugh at how endearing this is, but she licks her lips and says what she had been trying so hard to phrase.

“you feel like the sun’s rays.”

and as you lean into her embrace, the clouds parting in the stretch of sky beside you and the waves underneath you humming with warmth, you can’t help but agree.


End file.
